


FIC: Mord'Sith With Benefits

by trancer



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, F/F, Femslash, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1x22 ’Reckoning’ AU - There are benefits to being Rahl‘s favorite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC: Mord'Sith With Benefits

There was a time when they called her the Mother Confessor. When she traveled and fought alongside the man they called the Seeker. Then, they brought the Boxes of Orden together, the wizard named Zedd died in a burst of fire, the Seeker named Richard disappeared and Kahlan..

Was left at the hands of Darken Rahl.

In his arrogance, Darken Rahl underestimated the Mother Confessor named Kahlan Amnell. Thought all he needed was a Rada’Han around Kahlan’s neck to contain her. Kahlan waited, like a snake biding its time for the perfect strike. When Rahl, once again, entered her chambers with the expectation of coupling with her to create a child -

Kahlan struck.

She did more than take Darken Rahl’s life. She stripped him of his power, all that he’d accumulated, by hook or by crook, entered Kahlan. Everything that was Rahl’s became Kahlan’s. As a new dawn broke over the horizon and Kahlan stood at the window covered in Rahl’s blood, she watched as the sun began to shine on the empire that was now hers.

She is Lady Rahl now.

Kahlan sits in her chambers and while a Lady Rahl would never be nervous, there’s a nervous air about her. Her mouth dry, she brings the goblet of wine to her lips with fingers trembling slightly. Palm slick with sweat, she rubs it on her thigh, only to be coarsely reminded of the nervous heat flaring between her legs.

She is nervous, unlike a Lady Rahl. She is also not dressed like a Lady Rahl. Instead of her immaculate and ornate gowns, Kahlan is dressed in a gown beneath the station of a Lady Rahl - a sleeping gown typically found on the poorest of peasants. It’s cheap and flimsy, and while it covers her from head to toe, the thinness of the material doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

There is no knock and the door to her chambers opens. An offense that would normally mean immediate imprisonment. But, not tonight. Kahlan merely lifts to her feet as the door opens, her guest enters and Kahlan’s heart does a flip-flop within her chest.

Of all the things Kahlan expected when she took Rahl’s gift, she never expected to receive his bond with the Mord’Sith. If they had a choice, which they don‘t, she knows they prefer her as their ‘Lord’ than any other Rahl. Kahlan expects more from her Mord’Sith than to serve as nothing more than a brute squad. They have all risen to the challenge, one more than all the others.

Dahlia enters Kahlan’s bed chambers, closing and locking the door behind her. There is nothing quite like the leather uniform of a Mord’Sith, and Kahlan has enjoyed those particular perks on numerous occasions. But, Kahlan is way more imaginative than Darken Rahl ever was and she has other desires that go beyond a Mord’Sith in leathers. Like this - Dahlia dressed like a Lord, black pants tucked into riding boots, a deep, forest green long coat. And Kahlan’s already licking her lips wondering what’s underneath.

“Didn’t you ever learn,” Dahlia saunters across the floor, unbuttoning her coat. “You should always lock your doors? Who knows what would happen if a scoundrel should make their way into your chambers.”

“I’d say,” Kahlan meets Dahlia halfway, hips swaying as she walks. “There’s already a scoundrel in my chambers.”

Dahlia peels the coat off her shoulders, allows it to drop to the floor where she stands. Her light, brown hair is not in the customary braid the Mord’Sith wear, it spills loosely over her shoulders. Over the cream-colored shirt she’s purposely left unbuttoned to an indecent degree. And Dahlia watches the flush darken her Lady’s cheeks, the blue eyes as they dilate, raking over Dahlia‘s chest, then lowering. Her Mistress is very pleased.

The Mord’Sith are trained to serve the Lord Rahl in what ever manner Rahl sees fit. Darken Rahl had his fetishes, Lady Rahl has her own and where Darken Rahl liked to take, Kahlan likes to be taken. Dahlia is only too eager to serve.

Her hand whips out, grasping Kahlan by the back of the head, fingers curling tightly in the dark hair, her other hand snaking around Kahlan‘s waist. She yanks, pulls Kahlan towards her, their lips crashing together. Kahlan resists, because this is the game they play, her hands press to Dahlia’s shoulders giving resistance as Dahlia forcefully juts her tongue into Kahlan’s mouth.

Dahlia pushes and Kahlan staggers backwards. Just before they reach the wall, Dahlia breaks their kiss and shoves Kahlan hard against it. Dahlia plants her hand palm flat against the wall next to Kahlan’s head. She leans, eyes lowering, finding something of interest on Kahlan’s chest. “A scoundrel?” she says with the lift of an eyebrow. She draws her freehand down, circling her nail around the erect nipple straining against the flimsy material of Kahlan’s gown.

Kahlan sucks her lower lip into her mouth, breathing heavily through her nose as Dahlia shifts her hips, presses against Kahlan and she feels ‘it’ against her thigh.

Dahlia rolls her hips a little, smiles at the way Kahlan trembles in anticipation against her. “Do you know what scoundrels do to lady’s who leave their bed chambers unlocked?”

Before Kahlan can finish shaking her head no, Dahlia’s hands are on her, fisting the material of Kahlan’s gown with both hands, yanking them apart and the gown rips open in one smooth, fluid movement. Dahlia shudders, mouth going slack at the sight before her. The Mother Confessor, no, the Lady Rahl is breathtakingly beautiful. But, it’s more than beauty that causes the salt to sting the corners of Dahlia‘s eyes. Dahlia knows she and her sisters respect Kahlan more than they ever did any of the previous Rahl’s. Darken Rahl took with power given instead of earned. Battled with his gifts because of the advantage it gave him. Kahlan is a warrior, with a dominance proven in battles both on the field and in the bedroom. And Dahlia’s heart swells with pride at the gift her Lady Rahl has given her, the gift of submission.

But, there’s still a game to be played and Dahlia is eager to fulfill her role.

She presses her body against Kahlan’s again, gruffly shoves her hand between Kahlan’s thighs, noting the sticky wetness that greets her fingers.

“Is this for me?” she purrs, flicking her tongue at Kahlan’s earlobe. “So unbecoming a lady.”

Kahlan purrs back at the teeth nipping her neck, the fingers between her thighs. Arms drawing up Dahlia’s back, she curls them into the soft, brown hair as her hips roll with a gentle insistence. A reminder that the game is only beginning.

Dahlia has always been Kahlan’s favorite. From the moment she was brought to the People’s Palace, it was Dahlia who Rahl commanded to watch her. Dahlia, who pulled her punches as Kahlan hung over the pit and Darken Rahl smiled as Kahlan screamed. Who slipped into Kahlan’s room, quietly and gently applied the healing salve to the wounds she’d created. Dahlia, who could never quite keep the pain from coloring her eyes. And, when the Palace walls filled with Darken Rahl’s screams and his soldiers rushed to Kahlan’s door to defend their Lord, it was Dahlia who stood in front of it, allowing Kahlan to finish what she‘d started.

In Dahlia, Kahlan found a kindred spirit and when she took Darken Rahl’s life, stole his gifts, Dahlia was the first to share in the bounty.

Kahlan pulls at the hair in her hands, forcing Dahlia’s head up and she pounces with her lips. Her kisses urgent and hurried, the message clear - take me, use me, dominate me. Dahlia hears Kahlan loud and clear.

One arm wrapping around Kahlan’s waist, the other gripping her ass, Dahlia leans back, taking Kahlan’s weight as Kahlan lifts her legs, wrapping them around Dahlia’s waist. She turns, her movements swift and strong, carrying Kahlan across the floor, practically throwing Kahlan onto the mattress.

Kahlan flops backwards, barely time to breathe when Dahlia is on her again. Hands around her wrists, she’s pinned to the mattress, Dahlia’s weight pressing down on her, crushing her lungs. Kahlan opens her legs, drapes her thighs over Dahlia’s hips. More, she says with arching hips and acquiescing lips.

Dahlia pulls back, breaking the kiss. She lifts up, her eyes dark with heat and hunger, matching Kahlan’s. “Is my Lady in a hurry?” she teases sultrily.

“And my scoundrel of a Lord is not?” Kahlan taunts back.

Dahlia smirks, growling as she claims Kahlan’s lips once more. Then her lips are trailing, over collarbone, between breasts, pulling an erect nipple between barely opened teeth. Kahlan gasps and mewls beneath her and, when Kahlan threads her fingers urgently into Dahlia’s hair, Dahlia slaps the hands away. She teases, with lips, teeth, tongue, pinching fingers, tormenting Kahlan’s nipples until she’s sure her Lady will explode from this touch alone. Then, Dahlia’s moving down, tongue trailing through the sheen of sweat on Kahlan’s stomach. Her nose meets Kahlan’s coarse curls and she giggles into the mound as Kahlan bucks beneath her. In these moments between them, patience has never been one of her Lady‘s virtues.

Hands under Kahlan’s knees, Dahlia pulls Kahlan’s thighs open. Her Lady open and exposed, the flesh wet, swollen, flushed to a darkened pink. And Dahlia plunders like the scoundrel she is. Mouthing Kahlan’s sex, she plunges her tongue deep, ears ringing as Kahlan cries out. Arm wrapping around Kahlan’s thigh, she presses her thumb against Kahlan’s clit. Thumb and tongue working in tandem, Dahlia is merciless, Kahlan flailing and trembling beneath her. It’s not long, because Kahlan can’t help from threading her hand in Dahlia’s hair, nails raking against her scalp. Dahlia can feel Kahlan clenching, twitching around her tongue.

Dahlia doesn’t fear confession in this moment. With Rahl’s ‘gift’ pumping through her veins, Kahlan has learned to control her gift from consuming her in this moment. The moment finally arrives and Kahlan arches, neck craning as the scream releases from her throat. She bucks and writhes, Dahlia holding her down, pushing her tongue just a little harder, just a little deeper, until Kahlan has no more left to give.

Kahlan collapses, a boneless mass, twitching and trembling on the mattress. There is little time to recover, she can feel Dahlia shifting on the mattress. Kahlan opens her eyes, sees Dahlia rising to her knees, her fingers going to the buttons on her breeches.

While Kahlan hasn’t quite recovered, she’s recovered enough. She’s up on her elbows, tongue running over her lips watching Dahlia’s fingers. The breeches open, Dahlia pulls it out and Kahlan can’t help but reach to touch because it’s unlike anything she’s ever seen before. Not ivory or wood, like the ones before. It’s stiff but almost pliant, dark like tar, the feel silky beneath her fingers as she slides them up and down the shaft. She wants to ask what it is, where Dahlia got it but that would ruin the mystery.

Dahlia’s mouth goes slack, brows crinkling because it’s almost like she can _feel_ Kahlan‘s fingers. A growl bubbles up the back of her throat and she pushes Kahlan back down onto the mattress, hands wrapping around Kahlan’s wrists and pinning them to the bed because it’s like she’s been consumed with the thought of being inside her.

The shaft against the length of her sex, the push of Dahlia’s hips, slicking it with Kahlan’s wetness and Kahlan’s eyes flutter, a guttural moan rising from her throat. Dahlia’s not gentle, Kahlan doesn’t want gentleness, not now. Dahlia pushes, hard and deep, and they both gasp throatily at the sensation.

Thighs draping over Dahlia’s hips, ankles hooking together, Kahlan slips her hands from Dahlia’s wrists, draws them up her back and digs her nails in through the shirt.

The toes of her boots digging into the mattress for purchase, Dahlia drives her hips. Pants with every thrust, listening to Kahlan yelp in her ear.

“Dahlia,” Kahlan breathes. “Oh, my Dahlia.”

Dahlia has to squeeze her eyes shut from the sudden sensation tightening her chest, causing the corners of her eyes to sting. Because it’s been so long since she’s heard her name said like that. And she buries the thought of ‘her’ like she buries her face in the crook of Kahlan’s neck.

Kahlan feels Dahlia’s shudder run through her. Knows it goes beyond pleasure, goes into something deeper. The pain Dahlia can’t keep from coloring her eyes. “Oh Dahlia,” she whispers, running a hand over the back of Dahlia’s head. “My wounded Mord’Sith.”

Her Lady knows, Dahlia thinks. Of course, her Lady has always known. It’s what drew Dahlia to the, then, Mother Confessor to begin with, no matter how much Dahlia fought it. It started simply. A look across a hall. The caress of Kahlan’s hand against Dahlia’s when Kahlan knew no one was looking. The talks. Oh, how the Mother Confessor loved to talk, particularly about emotions - feeling them, acknowledging them, expressing them. She wore Dahlia’s defenses down like a rock battered by the tide. Before Dahlia could think, she wasn’t just the Lady Rahl’s protector, she’d become Lady Rahl’s.

“My Lady,” Dahlia pulls her head back to stare down into Kahlan’s eyes. She leans back down, pressing their lips together. She’d never say it. Kahlan doesn’t expect her to. But, Dahlia shows it, expresses her motions with her lips, in the fingers brushing over Kahlan’s forehead, in the deep sway of her hips. There was the one from before and Dahlia thought she’d never have that again. Now that she has it again, Dahlia plans to never let Kahlan slip from her fingers.

“You,” her voice lowers, growling with possessiveness. “Are mine.”

Gazing back through the slits of her eyes, Kahlan sighs her response. It’s not enough for Dahlia, increasing the arcing sway of her hips. She slides her hand under the back of Kahlan’s head, grabs a fistful of hair and pulls. Her eyes are hungry, tinged with an aching desperation. Lips hovering over Kahlan’s. “Say it,” she growls, pushing her hips with a hard thrust, feels the shudder that jolts through Kahlan‘s entire body.

“I..” Kahlan pants, smiling, still shivering. “Am yours.”

Dahlia purrs, deep and throaty. Her Lady gives her this but Dahlia knows its more than words. There are others Kahlan allows into her bed chambers. She also knows Kahlan doesn’t give herself to them like she gives herself to Dahlia. And Dahlia’s lifting, back up on her knees. She withdraws, chuckling at Kahlan’s pained whimper of protest. A hand under Kahlan’s knee, she lifts the leg, moves it over her head, hands rolling Kahlan onto her stomach. Kahlan understands, already lifting onto elbows and knees.

Dahlia teases, poking and prodding the tip into Kahlan’s wet and swollen folds, just to watch Kahlan wriggle. Kahlan doesn’t have to wait long, hands on her hips, Dahlia thrusts. The mane of dark hair tosses back as Kahlan howls. Dahlia juts her hips. Kahlan pushes back to meet her. Dahlia shudders. Kahlan shivers and Dahlia swears she can feel it, the way Kahlan clenches and grips, her tightness, her wetness, the friction that sends reverberating shock waves all the way down into Dahlia’s bones. All that Kahlan has, Dahlia can feel it. All this that is hers.

She wants to feel more. Trained for years to bury and bottle her emotions, with the one woman who allows Dahlia’s emotions to run free.

Dahlia leans down, slides her hand under Kahlan. Fingers gripping Kahlan by the crook of the neck, Dahlia pulls them both up onto their knees. Her hands wrap around Kahlan’s waist like she’s trying to merge the two of them into one.

“My Lady,” Dahlia breathes into Kahlan’s neck.

“Kahlan,” she says as reaches up, threading her fingers into Dahlia’s hair. “I’m your Kahlan.”

It’d been building, the coiling, twisting tension in the pit of her stomach, and still the moment of release catches Dahlia by surprise. It’s never happened during this. The scream chokes in the back of her throat as she shudders and convulses, driving her hips into Kahlan.

Kahlan grits her teeth from the pain of Dahlia’s teeth cleaving into her shoulder. Tightens the fingers in Dahlia’s hair as her insides begin to tighten and quiver as Dahlia’s shuddering against her, within her. And Kahlan keens, joining Dahlia as she plummets over the edge.

Spent completely this time, Kahlan collapses face first onto the mattress, Dahlia’s comforting weight pressing down on her. They lie this way for an eternity, doing nothing but panting and twitching. Dahlia shifts and Kahlan tightens the fingers still woven in Dahlia’s hair.

“Don’t,” she mumbles into the pillow. “Not yet. Stay inside me a little longer.”

“As you wish,” Dahlia relaxes, easing back down onto Kahlan. She is Mord’Sith. While she knows this isn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, it is the life she has now. Trained to serve, in whatever manner the ruling Rahl sees fit, and as Dahlia rolls onto her side, pulling Kahlan with her, she smiles, luxuriating in the benefits of a Mord’Sith.

END


End file.
